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THE CRIES OF THE DEAD
2 One Price, in South-warke dwelt
a Weauer by his trayde, But a more graceles man
I thinke was neuer made: All his life wicked was,
and his minde bent to blood, Nothing but cruelty
did his heart any good.
3 Many poore Prentisses
to himselfe did he bind, Sweete gentle children all
of a most willing mind: Seruing him carefully
in this his weauing Art, Whome he requited still,
with a most cruel heart.
4 Lawfull corrections, he
from his mind cast aside, Beating them cruelly
for no cause, tel they dyed: Spurning and kicking them,
as if dogs they had beene, Careles in cruelty,
was this wretch euer seene.
5 Neuer went they without
brused and broken eyes, Head and face blacke and blew,
such was their miseries: What so came next his hand,
tongs or forke from the fier Would he still lay on them,
in his madd moody ire.
6 Parents come bend your eares,
listen what followed on, |
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